


Smoothies and Full Moons

by Quinny_555



Series: Carry On My Prodigal Son [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019), Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Malcolm Bright, BAMF Sam Winchester, Dani Powell is a Good Friend, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Malcolm Bright Finds Out About The Supernatural, Malcolm Bright Likes Smoothies, Malcolm Bright Whump, Malcolm Bright is a Danger Magnet, Murder, Profiling, Protective Gil Arroyo, Sam and Malcolm Are Friends :), Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22760392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinny_555/pseuds/Quinny_555
Summary: “Yes, he only kills on the nights leading up to the full moon and the night of the full moon! I was wondering why he would only kill for a few days every month, the pattern was right there. His delusion involves only hunting at night, taking the victim's heart and nothing else, using only brute strength and all according to the moon cycle? Guys, he thinks he’s a werewolf."orIn which Malcolm learns the hard way that there are things in this world that are hard to explain and even harder to believe.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel, Sam Winchester & Malcolm Bright
Series: Carry On My Prodigal Son [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636342
Comments: 18
Kudos: 143





	1. A Little Cuckoo For Cocoa Puffs

Sam frowned at the news article he was reading, brow furrowing slightly. When the sound of Sam’s fingers tapping away on the keyboard was absent for a suspicious amount of time Dean looked up at his brother. 

“Found something?” he asked. Sam’s attention snapped up to his brother. 

“Um, yeah, I think so,” he said, glancing back at the article. “We need to go to New York.” 

Dean nodded, signaling the waitress whom he had been flirting with their entire meal. 

“Ready for the cheque?” she asked perkily. Dean flashed a charming grin and nodded. He watched her walk away as she went to get it before turning back to Sam. “New York it is.” 

Sam sighed and closed the laptop after glancing one last time at the picture of Malcolm Bright on the front page of _The New York Times_. 

~~~ 

“He’s clearly suffering from a severe psychotic delusion of some kind,” Malcolm said, gesturing wildly with the hand that wasn't holding his smoothie cup. JT was worried that he was going to spill it but didn't say anything. If he wanted to ruin his million-dollar suit, who was JT to stop him. 

“They're almost as ritualistic as they are animalistic. This person has to be strong- ridiculously so. They tore the heart right out of the chest, but they didn't leave it at the crime scene. The victims also seem to be random, wrong place wrong time and all that.” He paused and shook his head. “He’s extremely disorganized, and yet… he leaves no evidence at the crime scene. There are no witnesses, but that might just be luck.” 

“How can he be organized and also disorganized?” Dani asked. “Seems like a contradiction.” 

“It is!” Malcolm said, smoothie sloshing precariously. Dani leaned out of the splash zone. “The whole profile is a contradiction! That can mean a few things, none of them good. There could be two different people working as a team, but there was no evidence of more than one suspect at the scene. Another is that he has more than one personality; most cases of DID aren't violent, but there are a few. That would also match if our killer recently had a psychotic break.” 

“So… what I got from this is that our guy is a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs?” JT said, eyebrows raised slightly. 

“That's not exactly how I would say it, but yes.” Malcolm sat on the conference table and crossed his legs. He took a sip of his smoothie as he continued to stare at the case board. Something felt… off. He was trying to put his finger on what it was when Gil entered the room. 

“Moon cycles!” Malcolm shouted as it hit him like a train. He almost fell off the table trying to untangle his legs in his rush to check his theory. 

“Moon cycles…” JT echoed skeptically, looking at Malcolm like he might have well and truly lost his marbles. 

“Yes, he only kills on the nights leading up to the full moon and the night of the full moon! I was wondering why he would only kill for a few days every month, the pattern was _right_ there. His delusion involves only hunting at night, taking the victim's heart and nothing else, using only brute strength and all _according_ to the moon cycle? Guys, he thinks he’s a werewolf. He’s _compelled_ to kill on full moons.” 

“If he thinks he needs to kill on the full moon, then when will his next kill be?” Gil asked. Dani pulled out her phone and cursed under her breath. 

“That’s tonight, boss,” 

~~~ 

Malcolm Bright attracted more danger than anyone Sam had ever met in his life. Literally. He was including himself in that number. He had known Malcolm all of one year and he had never seen him not injured for one reason or another. He had met up with Malcolm for the first time after they met a month after the fact. Malcolm was already sporting new bruises to the face. 

“Jesus Christ, what happened to you?” had said once Malcolm had turned around and he got a look at his friend’s face. 

“What, this?” he gestured to his face vaguely, “Work.” Sam couldn't get much more of a story than that, which is something he learned to deal with. His reasons for injury were always unexpected and more often than not, strange. 

“Angry suspect,” 

“Minor sword wound,” 

“Jumped out a window,” 

“Explosion,” 

“Fell into a grave,” 

“Punched my serial killer father,” 

“Dog attack,” 

“Fell down the stairs,” 

The list went on. The kid just couldn't catch a break. Despite his injuries, he was always smiling for one reason or another. Malcolm should have been as jaded as his peers in law enforcement were, even more so with everything he dealt with, and yet… he wasn't. Sure, he was used to the job and all it entailed, but everything seemed to slide right off him. A quality that Sam couldn't help but admire. 

“It's definitely a werewolf,” Sam said as he loaded his gun with silver bullets. “The moon phases, removal of the heart, seemingly random choice of victims…” he trailed off. Dean nodded and finished cleaning his own gun. 

“So, are we really just here for the case?” Dean asked. Sam blinked. 

“Of course. What else would we be here for?” he wasn't sure what Dean was implying but he was sure he wouldn't like it. 

“Well, your little boyfriend, of course,” Dean said, looking smug. Sam spluttered in indignation. 

“Wha- I- we- he’s not my _boyfriend_ , Jerk,” Sam eventually managed. He really wasn't, but he knew that Dean wouldn't let it go that easy. 

“Okay,” Dean said, smirking. 

“He’s _not_ ,” Sam insisted. 

“Of course,” he paused, “Bitch,” Sam rolled his eyes but didn't comment further. 

“Let’s just kill the son of a bitch,” Sam said. 

“Yeah, we wouldn't want you to be late to your date with Mal- ow!” 

~~~ 

“Are you sure you should be out there, Bright?” Gil asked as Malcolm pulled on his vest. 

“The doctor cleared me for fieldwork two weeks ago, Gil. I'm fine. I promise,” Gil still looked skeptical. “Would it help if I told you I was 90% good?” he joked. Gil let out an exasperated but fond laugh. 

“Aright, fine,” he said and handed Malcolm his earpiece. Malcolm just beamed at him and Gil wondered why he could never say no to this kid. He got to patrol the streets all night in freezing temperatures and he looked like Christmas had come early. “Just be careful, okay?” 

“Definitely. When am I not?” 

The answer to that, as I’m sure we all know, is literally all the time. 

“Call for backup. I'm in pursuit!” Malcolm shouted at Dani before sprinting off after the suspect. 

“Malcolm stop! Don't- Christ,” he could hear her shout after him but he was already gone. The streets were foggy and basically deserted. His and the suspect’s footsteps echoed off of buildings in the eerie silence that came with the dead of night. His gun was a comforting weight in his hand. (He was licensed to carry, despite the fact that it wasn't police issued. Gotta love America). The suspect seemed to disappear into the fog and Malcolm came to a reluctant stop. 

He lifted his hand to radio in his location when something heavy slammed into his side. He hit the wall beside him with so much force he could swear he felt a rib or two crack. All of the air was knocked out of him and all he could manage in response to the pain was a breathless scream. Whatever had hit him was inhumanly fast, and it was still pinning him to the wall. He looked up into eyes that were _definitely_ not human. 

The thing growled in his face and caught his wrist in a death grip. He winced and it looked at him curiously. It squeezed his wrist tighter and he wasn't able to hold in an agonized gasp. He could tell that whatever this thing was, it enjoyed his pain. 

“You're a sadistic prick, aren't you?” he gasped between clenched teeth. The thing seemed to at least understand the sentiment of the words and threw him to the ground. Hard. Black spots swam in his vision and he fought for consciousness. From this angle he got a better look at his assailant. It was vaguely human-shaped, but not quite _right_. Teeth and nails too sharp, grin too feral, body language too animalistic, and eyes that glowed a sickly green with slits for pupils. It leaned over him, poised to strike, and he braced himself. 

The fatal blow he was waiting for never came. There were two gunshots, a thud, then silence. He was honestly expecting Dani to start scolding him for being an idiot any minute now. He opened his eyes and blinked at who was standing there. None other than Sam Winchester stood above him, gun still smoking. 

“You are _the_ _most_ unlucky person I have ever met,” he said in disbelief as he lowered his gun. As he stared at the grotesque body next to him slowly transforming back into a normal corpse, he couldn't help but agree.


	2. Proof... Like, Actual Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sam, you do remember that I am prone to hallucinations and flashbacks, right?” he reminded him. Sam hadn't considered that.

“Holy shit,” Malcolm said, staring at the normal looking body on the concrete. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he continued his mantra. His hand tremor was worse than usual, he noted absently. 

“Malcolm?” Sam questioned quietly. Malcolm let out an unexpected bark of laughter as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. 

“Dude, is he like…” Malcolm blinked at the unexpected voice. He hadn't realized Dean was here. He must be imagining him too. He let his face drop into his hands. 

“Oh God, oh God, oh God” his voice was muffled. “I need to get my meds adjusted. They haven't been this bad since Watkins,” he laughed again, but it sounded more like a sob. 

“I think we broke your friend, Sammy,” Dean whispered. Sam smacked him upside the head and approached Malcolm carefully. 

“Hey,” he said in as soothing a voice he could manage. “Malcolm, look at me,” Malcolm continued to shake his head. 

“You're not real. Please, _please_ leave me alone,” he said miserably. Sam reached out gingerly and grabbed Malcolm's wrists. Malcolm made a small noise at the back of his throat, but Sam didn't let him go. He gently pulled until Malcolm’s hands came away to reveal his face. 

“Do I look like a hallucination to you, Malcolm?” he asked. Malcolm reluctantly shook his head. “Does this _feel_ like a hallucination?” he squeezed his injured wrist lightly, causing him to hiss and shake his head again. “This is not a hallucination, and I will explain everything as soon as I can, but your friends will be here soon,” 

“Shit,” he whispered. “How am I going to explain…” he trailed off as he looked at the now human body. 

“Just tell them as much truth as you can without being incarcerated in a mental institute,” Sam said, only half-joking. 

“Yeah,” Malcolm said, taking a gulping breath. “I can do that,” 

Malcolm was never the most orthodox of people, but at least he was always open about his strange methods. Point blank lying to anyone, let alone the police, felt wrong. Fundamentally. 

“But that doesn't make any sense,” Gil said. He didn't sound accusatory, just confused. “He attacked you and someone shot him and just… left? Why would they leave?” 

“I, uh, I'm not sure,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “Maybe he was scared that he would go to jail? Like, he panicked and ran,” 

“Yeah, maybe…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Why don't you go home and rest? I'll finish up here,” 

“Yeah, alright,” Malcolm said. Gil’s eyes shot up to look at him. 

“Really? You're going home, just like that?” Malcolm bristled slightly at the accusation in his mentor’s gaze. 

“We got him, didn't we?” he said, sounding more defensive than he would like. “And I'm tired. I think I'll try sleeping tonight,” Gil’s expression softened slightly. 

“Okay,” he said, not pushing the subject. “I'll get JT to drive you home,” 

“No, that's okay, I can get home on my own,” he backtracked quickly. 

“I'd rather have someone see to it that you get home safe after what happened tonight,” he raised his eyebrows in silent challenge. Malcolm relented. At least JT wasn't a mother hen. 

“You look like you're about to fall over.”

Or not. 

“I think I can manage the stairs on my own,” Malcolm said as they stood outside his front door. 

“If I let you fall down those stairs and break your neck Gil would kill me,” JT countered stubbornly. Malcolm sighed, but let it go. Mother hens, all of them. 

“Fine,” he muttered and unlocked the door. He made his way up the stairs on his own, without help, thank you very much. He almost toppled back down once he reached the top and saw Sam standing in his kitchen. 

JT had his gun out before Malcolm could even process what was happening. 

“Hands up!” he shouted, and Sam compiled without complaint. Malcolm blinked. 

“Sam? What are you doing here?” he asked, though that was mostly for JT’s sake. He could guess why Sam was here. 

“You know this guy?” JT asked, eyeing Sam suspiciously. 

“Yeah, we, uh, go way back,” Malcolm said awkwardly. “Could you put the gun away?” 

JT didn't seem to realize he still had it out and reluctantly nodded. Once he had holstered it, Sam put his hands down. 

“Hi. I'm Sam.” he moved forward to shake JT’s hand. JT might have squeezed a little harder than necessary, but if Sam noticed he didn't show any sign of it. Soon, Malcolm was ushering JT out the door, thanking him for the ride. 

“So,” Malcolm said once JT’s car pulled away. “I’d like to know why I just lied to the police about what I'm pretty sure was a bad hallucination.” 

“You might want to have a seat,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck, “This is going to be a long explanation.” 

Malcolm deliberated for a moment. 

“You know what? I think I'm gonna need a drink for this conversation.” 

~~~ 

“When you said drink, I thought you meant alcohol,” Sam said. He didn't sound disappointed though, and he enthusiastically sipped his smoothie. 

“I try to avoid alcohol when I can. It makes me think of my mother,” he only half-joked. Sam nodded. 

“So, what you saw tonight was a werewolf,” Sam started, “And there are things much worse than that in the world.” 

“Okay, so say that I do believe this,” Malcolm started and Sam blinked. 

“If? You just saw it. It literally almost broke your wrist,” he said, sounding disbelieving. 

“Sam, you do remember that I am prone to hallucinations and flashbacks, right?” he reminded him. Sam hadn't considered that. 

“Okay, well, what can I do to convince you that what you saw was real?” Sam finally settled on as an answer. Malcolm thought about that for a moment. 

He genuinely felt like what he had seen in that alley was real. He could still feel its weight crushing his chest, its claws pressing into the flesh of his wrists, its hot breath on his face, those horrible eyes staring at him… but he also knew that he couldn't trust his memory. Last time he believed that what he saw was real, he had almost stabbed Eve with a kitchen knife. So no, he couldn't believe that this was happening until he had definitive proof. 

“Concrete proof of some kind. Pictures, videos, something like that,” he told Sam, who sighed. 

“Deal.” 

~~~ 

“Really, Sam?” was all Dean could manage when Sam told him about what Malcolm said. “We are _so_ not recording evidence of the supernatural just to make your friend feel better,” 

“It’s not just about making him feel better, Dean,” Sam said. 

“Then what is this about? Why does he have to believe it?” Dean demanded. 

“Because if he doesn't, what does that mean for his psyche? He already thinks he’s crazy, and his meds are finally working right. If he gets them adjusted after thinking he’s hallucinating, think about what it could do to him,” Sam finally said, exasperated by Dean’s ‘Devil may care’ attitude. Dean paused and looked at his brother for a long moment. 

“Okay,” he finally said. 

“Okay?” Sam echoed, surprised that Dean would give up that easily. 

“Yes, okay. If it means that much to you, I know you're going to do it anyway. Whether I help you with it or not,” he rolled his eyes at his little brother's stubbornness. He knew he was going to regret it, but seeing the way Sam’s face lit up made it worth it. 

~~~ 

_“You know, we haven't been on a good old fashioned ghost hunt for a long time now, Sammy,” Dean said from behind the camera. The camera shook for a moment as Dean turned quickly. A young girl stood in view of the camera. She just stood there for a moment before disappearing. She re-appeared right in front of Dean, flickering into view before he was suddenly thrown back. There was a thud and then an “Oomph” from Dean._

_“Dammit-” Dean muttered as he swung at the girl with the iron fire poker. She disappeared, but she would soon return. “How's the fire coming?” He shouted as he was tossed again._

_“Almost-” there was the flick of a lighter and the girl screamed as she went up in flames and disappeared for a final time._

The video ended and Malcolm just stared at the screen. Sam was getting concerned when Malcolm abruptly handed him the camera and stood. 

“Mal-” he started, but Malcolm cut him off. 

“Thank you,” he said. Malcolm started pacing while running his fingers through his messy hair. “It's, uh, it’s nice to know you're not completely crazy, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly. “Yeah, I think I do.” Malcolm took a deep breath and exhaled with a shaky laugh. 

“Well, now that I know about the things in the dark,” he remarked, “Smoothies? My treat, of course.” Sam laughed. He was shocked by how well Malcolm was taking this, but decided not to comment. 

“Sure,” he agreed, “Smoothies sound great,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This WAS going to be three chapters but, well, that'll be another story ;)


End file.
